ever-flowing stream of clear, cold mountain water.

As it happened this day Dale encountered Al Auchincloss
sitting in the shade of a porch, talking to some of his
sheep-herders and stockmen. Auchincloss was a short man of
extremely powerful build and great width of shoulder. He had
no gray hairs, and he did not look old, yet there was in his
face a certain weariness, something that resembled sloping
lines of distress, dim and pale, that told of age and the
ebb-tide of vitality. His features, cast in large mold, were
clean-cut and comely, and he had frank blue eyes, somewhat
sad, yet still full of spirit.

Dale had no idea how his visit would be taken, and he
certainly would not have been surprised to be ordered off
the place. He had not set foot there for years. Therefore it
was with surprise that he saw Auchincloss wave away the
herders and take his entrance without any particular
expression.

"Howdy, Al! How are you?" greeted Dale, easily, as he leaned
his rifle against the log wall.

Auchincloss did not rise, but he offered his hand.

"Wal, Milt Dale, I reckon this is the first time I ever seen
you that I couldn't lay you flat on your back," replied the
rancher. His tone was both testy and full of pathos.

"I take it you mean you ain't very well," replied Dale. "I'm